


Even the Strong are Fearful

by EnsorcelledReader



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consensual Sex, Dom/sub, M/M, Nookworms, Teasing, Whips, other sex stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:30:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9296294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnsorcelledReader/pseuds/EnsorcelledReader
Summary: A prize for a giveaway I did on my tumblr. The person request signless/ghb (no other guidelines other than consent) so, here we go.





	

I look out into the quiet abyss of his kingdom at night, the flickering lights of the bluebloods and their families, further off I can see the dying flames of those lower in our caste system. My heart aches for them and I think of my dream, a future I’m sure will come to pass. A future where our descendants will eat together and get along. Not the everyday war so many face now. Not the fear that permeates every waking hour for those on the lowest rank. Not the desperation and quaking pleas of the disabled and those of my genetic line, just before their hue drains from their skin and the ground stains with half a rainbow. The rich are never culled.

And yet, here I am. I’ve taken a lover in a quadrant I can’t place. I think feel flushed for him, yet there’s an underlying loathing for everything he stands for. I sense he waxes black for me. And yet, he is the one who wants me to take control. I am the one that comes to his room every night, benefitting from a luxurious meal and a soft bed. His dirty little secret, a stroke of aberrant red on the eloquent purple canvas of his home. He is allowed such privileges, or at least, that’s what he tells me. I don’t know if I believe him, the grand highblood still answers to the queen of all, and the queen hates mutant bugs like me.

I allow myself to indulge in the plush quality of his bed and the soft, satin texture of his sheets. My head wandering through the weight of everything I hold, simply by existing and the shameful pleasure I feel when I’m with him. The door creaks open, he dismisses his guards, his heavy footsteps fall onto the rug as stands next to the bed, his fearsome gaze on me.

“You going to motherfucking take all night?” If there was one thing I could change about him, it would be his language.

I sigh, falling into the role he introduced to me only a month ago, and I took on with more enthusiasm than I thought myself capable. I set my mind for the night’s events, I want to forget the outside world and melt into the decadence that has been allowed to me. I’m selfish that way. “Are YOU going to forget your place so readily? I will take as long as I wish, why don’t you strip down.”

“You’re still in your clothes,” his voice deep and gruff, his tone that of a petulant child.

“I don’t feel like taking off my clothes tonight.”

He huffs and looks away, my chest glows at his adorable nature when he’s shy. We all have our burdens to bear. His is the inability to express humility unless and until he’s broken down to his fundamental pieces; something only I can do to him, or maybe that’s just what I tell myself. His face fixes into a rage filled frown, perhaps I can train him out of that temper.

Giving in, I stand tall, snapping the only clasp keeping my garment on and allowing it to fall to the floor. Softly, I stroll up to him and take his gauntlet in my hands, he snatches his hand away, muttering something about not being a wriggler and doing it himself.  He eyes me while he fiddles with his cuffs, acting as though I’m asking him to lift the sky onto his shoulders.

After his armor is gone, his under clothes, a think purple wool, falls away from his form, kept up only by the rope around his waist. He reaches into the breast of his garment, producing a wild flower with candy red petals. “It made me think of you,” he said, shoving the flower into my hand. The thorns pricked my skin, not that I noticed, too distracted by the doppelgänger in my hand. It too was protected by him; it too could have been trampled. He throws his chest plate across the room, a resounding clang as he screams and grabs my wrist, staring, enraged, at the thick vibrant red running down my arm. Accustomed to his antics, “I’ll clean it up my lord.” He shakes his head, licking the trail from my elbow to my wrist. His long purple tongue soon bathed in my crimson hue. I feel a blush rising and he smiles wide at me, kissing me, the taste of my blood on his lips.

It’s embarrassing, but I groan; he kisses me harder. I can tell as his body tightens around me, enveloping me, he may just enjoy me tonight, as he did when our relationship began. Instead, he pulls away and tosses me my whip before removing his robe. My bulge is now out and writhing, while his shows little interest. He smirks at me, as if calling me a desperate little whore with his eyes and I crack the whip. “On the bed.” I say. He makes a glacial move towards his opulent respite block and I flick the whip on his ass, he groans and chuckles.

“That all you got?”

I wait until I’m within a foot of him, raising my arm high until I seem him brace for the impact of my futile attempt at anger, and instead I spank him. His moan sounds surprised, but his bulge is now out and it’s my turn to smirk. “I know you well.” His face flashes with fury and he bares his teeth to me. Unfazed, I whip his shoulders and he gets on the bed, a dark purple on his grey skin brightens, I press my hand to it and he hisses, his bulge twitching at the pain. There’s something utterly intoxicating about his massive form positioned for my delight. How someone so strong and walled off from so many, allows me to strip him of all that dignity that he fights so hard to keep. There’s fluid already seeping down my thigh, and the night hasn’t even truly begun.

His form, while compliant now, I know will grow to be violently impatient. I pull the restraints from under the bed, cuffing his ankles together and his wrists to the ornate headboard filled with sybaritic naked forms, some of which are tortured pillars that I attach him to. He hums deep in his chest. I can tell he thinks things are going to go his way tonight. Brushing the cord against the bruising skin I watch his well-built muscles tense, nearly so constrained they quiver, pulling it away before I humiliate him. There’s time enough in the night for that.

He tugs at the cuffs as I trace my finger on the sole of his left foot, a scare, barely there, from a more innocent time in his life. He’s never graced me with the full story, only it happened while on some adventure his lusus had forbade him from. I take my finger and trace his flexing leg muscles, eyeing the straining tendons in his neck as he pulls harder. He dislikes affection, the attention I provide him. I suspect kindness has been hard for him to come by, unlike myself. Despite the mark of my blood, I’ve been exceptionally fortunate in the company I keep. And even when we were trapped, I was able to save them with a kindness (though I’m sure he sees it as a personal indulgence for himself) from the behemoth in front of me, who now itches for my touch.

Still, I tease him. I take my single fingertip and dance around his lower back, a very sensitive place for him. I can hear him bite back a moan as I push a little harder, caressing the connections between the tendons. I watch every muscle in his back seize and show brightly through his skin. I accidently gasp in my wonder, it’s amazing to me how beautiful such a strong body can be. He grunts and tugs harder at his restraints. His head tosses back and forth a little, I remove all touch, hoping he will settle himself so I can continue.

He doesn’t.

Instead he snarls and curves his back and pulls mightily against the clasp on the bed pillars. He always loved durable things, something we share. Just as he loves his near tear resistant sheets, and strong as diamonds bed frame, I love his unrelenting spirit and stubbornness. It would be a lie to say I don’t take some enjoyment in watching him fight so hard. Part of me hopes he never gives in, never learns, so we can keep this play going on forever.

I take his large nookworm, and place it at his entrance, letting is burrow inside him and he collapses onto the sheets, his bulge thrashing. I whip him hard and listen to his strained grunt, “Don’t come, you know the rules.” I say. His head bows and his shoulders shake as I see every muscle in his body become tense and flex through his skin. He trembles and pants and within moments I can see the fluid staining the bed and his bulge so engorged that it looks like it might explode. With deft fingers, I fish the device from inside him and he collapses into his own mess. Tears stream from his cheeks and I smile, knowing he had been close. He attempts to rut against bed, desperate for that bit of friction. Alas, this is where his taste for fine things hurts him. I know from much time spent in that bed, the sheets and blankets are like clouds. All glide and not a bit of friction to be had. I sit next to him and pet his hair as he kicks and fights, angry at a missed opportunity for pleasure. I also know that he wants me to do it again.

I wait until he lays still on the bed, sweat drying on his skin before I allow my bulge to play with his sensitive flesh, I let myself sink inside him and listen to him groan with relief. I also pull all the way out and watch him as he chases the part he loves most about me. Not that I can blame him, the one benefit my aberration blood is the unique defect that results in a large and thick bulge. Before he captured me, I had a small retinue of lovers, all cared for and loved equally. He was a selfish one though, and horribly conceited, the only reason my other lovers survived really. He has to gloat somehow, some way, even if it’s only in the knowledge tucked way back in the minds of others.

Even now he tries to keep hold of his arrogance, like he isn’t blushing at my throbbing genitals in his face, bright red and covered in his purple fluid, a symbol of our relationship. “Suck it.” I tell him and watch as he throws himself at it. Taking me in to the lavish warmth of his mouth and the squeeze of his throat. He swallows around me and I let a low moan out and pet his hair. I tell him he’s the best I’ve ever experienced, fanning his ego. I try to focus on his hips, watching them squirm as his tongue lavishes affection at my vulnerable writhing appendage. The attention is the most tender thing I experience in our relationship. The only time he is truly gentle and the only time I feel him humble himself, just a little, and focus on my needs over his own. My hips buck as my excitement builds, I know better than to come down his throat. I’m tempted to, as he rewards (although he seems to think of it as a punishment) me by chaining me to the bed and feeding me with his hands, stroking me every night to completion and I am not allowed to reciprocate. That is, until he deems the moment of payment is nigh and fucks me roughly against the wall for hours, making me scream his name and tell him I’m his whore to defile until the end of time. Afterwards, he’s fond of taking my limp form and arranging it on the floor in an ill attempt at visual poetry. He sits in front of me in his favorite garish chair, watching me until I calm down, cool down, and shiver. He waits until I’m desperate for warmth and forced to crawl into his lap, kissing him and begging him to hold me. I’m sure to many this would an unbearable attack on their pride and dignity, for me, it’s ideal after-play.  

Still, his pleasure is what’s keeping me alive. I withdraw myself from mouth and press my swollen and beating bulge to his cheek. He looks up at me, tears shining in his eyes, pupils blown so wide it’s nearly impossible to see the iris. He’s biting his lip, trying to hold in his pleas. There’s drool dripping from his chin. Again, I’m struck with a near overwhelming urge to make him truly submit to me, not this show that I am forced to put on, but to enact in my carnal desire to spray my fluid across his face, to defile him and rob him of his power even for a moment. I’m severely unlike him though, consent for minute details is the principle need in all of my relationships. A grant that I am without.

Instead, I stay there for a moment until I feel his drool start to dry and my own fluid rise back to the surface. I rut against his large muscular ass while he grips the sheets, twitching with anticipation. And I smile as I get to do the one thing of which I both enjoy and am allowed. I plunge hard into him, his form gives way as I watch him struggle to regain his balance. As soon as he finds purchase on the soft bed, I thrust three times hard, again, and pause watching as he gasps for breath and scrambles for friction or control, neither of which he is granted. I pull out and take my whip, lashing him three times on his back and ass. “Stay still.” I say, watching as he twitches and sobs into the sheets. I stroke his bulge, allowing him to fall back into the throws of excitement before spanking him with my open hand. He finally gives up whatever he was attempting to do and falls, debased, into his pillows with his ass still in the air.

I let my fingers graze his abused skin and listen to him hiss before I place a kiss and my tongue against the warm flesh. He yelps and shudders, I continue until he lashes out in anger at my unwillingness to give him what he wants and then falls sobbing into his cuffs. I smile, because it is finally time.

I take his hips and sink myself deep into him, feeling his dripping wetness clench around me, and I pull hard against it before sinking myself in again sharply. He groans and hiccups sounds of pleasure through his tears. I have nearly lost my control as his body is nearly too good for me to remember my place. I continue thrusting at a brutal and punishing pace as he squirms against me, screaming through his tears and snot. He grows tighter against me until it’s nearly painful, before he finally asks, “Come on, t-touch it. Fuck, just touch it motherfucker!”

I pull his hair back and hiss in his ear, “You will come from my bulge in you, you love it don’t you? Thick and writhing in you. Come, now.” He obeys, the first time he’s ever obeyed such a command. I release inside him, a negligence on my part. And after a few moments of recovery, I scramble to clean him up. His eyes are still glassy when I remove the cuffs from his wrists. I rub the circulation back into them and do the same with his ankles. I run for a warm towel and gently wipe him clean, a few unhappy grunts are all I have to go by.

As I’m rinsing the towel in the water basin left by the servants, I hear him mutter something. “What was that my liege?” I ask, in my best subservient tone.

I turn to find him sitting up and glaring at me. “What just happened is never to leave this room, do you understand that, motherfucker?” His voice is low, calm, and commanding, a side of him rarely seen and truly terrifying. I nod, afraid of both meeting and avoiding his gaze. He stomps over to him, picking me up like a ragdoll, “I’m far better than you in every way. You only do the things you do because I command it. I am in control.” I frantically continue nodding my head, the feeling of his powerful grip cutting off the circulation to my arms sends alarm bells through my nerves and I have to go against every instinct to defend myself. He eyes me for a moment, before lowering me back down, and taking my wrist. I allow myself to be tugged back to the bed, where he pulls me down with him. At first I think he means to bed me a second time, to prove his virility. Instead, he simply holds me close and pets me like his favorite hoofbeast. I can hear his heartbeat through his chest, a frantic and erratic rhythm.

“I won’t tell a soul, my lord.” I whisper as my hand clasps his forearm and I look into his eyes. “I promise.”

He stares back with a mixture of dull fury and longing. “You’re still my courtesan, and mine alone.” He says gruffly, his grip tightening slightly.

“Of course, my lord.” I kiss his hand and he relaxes into bed, pulling me into spooning position, a rare treat for me. He keeps a surprisingly tender hold on me through the night, and kisses me awake in the morning.


End file.
